The Rising Tide

A rising tide will always lift some boats.

Alien to the wine-dark of the bay,

That sea of plastic trash afloat today.

Tectonic plates are groaning as we speak;

Earth's on the move—the oceans leak.

Our lithosphere's become a tattered coat.

And I, poor I, who'd love to hold my peace,

Have still a lot more words left in my lease.

So, then, I wonder, What's to do?

I fear I'll have to leave it up to you!

Tuesday, December 3, 2024